


Forward Motion

by melwil



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melwil/pseuds/melwil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine felt like a giggling school girl. Spoilers to 2.6</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forward Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2007

Her blood seemed to be running faster. She bounced on her toes as she poured her drink, leaning her head one side and then another, stretching the tension out of her neck.

It had gone better than she could have possibly imagined. Sure, there would be questions about the ultra-light, but she was confident that she could palm that off to MI5. There might be some concerns about the incident with the doctor, but these sort of things occurred all the time.

Christine Dale was a huge success.

There would be a promotion in this; her name would be mentioned in higher circles. She might even get a kind note from the President, or one of his aides. But, she realised, that really wasn’t enough for her. The praise was nice, but she wanted more.

She wanted Tom Quinn.

She felt like a giggling school girl whenever he was around, whenever she thought about him. He made her head a little dizzy, made her skin tingle. She had to remind herself to breathe whenever he was around, whenever he talked to her, whenever he battled with her to gain concessions she was always going to give.

She picked up the phone, letting the weight rest in her palm for a moment, her thumb stroking the smooth, plastic surface. She shouldn’t ring him, it was all fine and well to have a coffee in the midst of an operation, but to invite him into her home once the action had died down . . .

The company had a firm stance on that sort of thing.

And there was always the possibility he wouldn’t come.

Christine wandered through her flat, looking out the window at the world below her. Once she made the phone call, she would have stepped through a doorway with no exit. She would either have made her decision, made her bed or nails . . . or roses.

But what was the alternative? She could stay where she was, look for love amongst the doubtful group of men who rotated through London. She could ask for a transfer, leave the country she was surely falling in love with. She could leave the company.

Christine knew she would never leave the company.

She wandered into the bedroom and sat on the bed. She took a deep breath and dialled.

She had to go forward.


End file.
